Strawberry Gone
by Ecatar
Summary: Ichigo struggles with his memories of an icebox and a train on a bench at college. AU. One-shot written in the same universe as "Coffee" and "Parade." Ichiruki


**Strawberry Gone. **

The fibers from the blanket stuck to his lips tasted like orange flavored ice cream. The frayed ends of the wool in his right hand felt soft like his little sister's hair after she got it cut.

The floor of Ichigo's dorm room was not a comfortable place, unless he laid on a blanket.

His alarm finally went off. He was tired of being comfortable.

His walk to class was a rather long one, so every day he set an alarm for about thirty minutes before class started. The usual practice let him walk around the backside of campus and buy a cup of coffee from the campus store.

The floor of that very campus store was now wood with a fire streak of dark brown sitting under polish that looked quite like glass. He thought about an aquarium full of just that, fire, and the tips of his fingers up against warm glass. He felt sweat fall from eyes that watched brilliant flames dances like fish against a current.

He wanted to feel the bite of a popsicle in the roots of his teeth, but the pockets of wool in his jacket didn't have a temperature at all.

"Kurosaki Kun! How are you today?"

Inoue held a cup of coffee out in her hand, prepared especially for him. She expected him every day at exactly 4:45 PM.

She never charged him.

"Thanks Inoue. How are you?" he said.

The warmth from the coffee sweated out of the cup and into the pores of his fingertips. The warmth flooded the back of his mouth like someone was breathing into him, and his lips felt wet.

He fumbled for change in the pockets of his jeans. Winter weather made the cold metal in coins feel like hotel machine ice cubes.

"Kurosaki Kun? Are you okay?" she asked.

The curve of her lower lip was calming. Whenever she was concerned, it puffed out just a little. It was cute.

"Yea, I'm fine. Sorry, I guess I'm just not awake. No coffee yet."

"OH yes I know! I don't drink coffee to keep awake on the job, I always move around. Sometimes I knock stuff over just to stay awake. I can't fall asleep on the job, you know." She said. Her lips were normal again, but her eyes were like undiscovered planets in the sky. They made him happy that someone was living with that much excitement.

"Yea, I think you'll be okay, Inoue. Anyway, I guess I'll see you later."

He left the coins from his hand on the counter and turned away. Off to class.

"Kurosaki Kun! Wait, don't worry about it!" she yelled.

He wondered how cold the floor was under his feet when he heard her shoes click on the floor. He needed to know if sleeping on a wood floor would keep him from sweating at night. The burning in his chest under his jacket made him hope so.

He felt a familiar cold in the palm of his free hand and the warmth of slender fingers on his knuckles.

"I already paid for the coffee, Kurosaki Kun. Consider it a gift." she said.

He felt the warmth of her breath and a wet tickle from her lower lip when she pulled him down to her level.

"I'm sorry for leaving my blanket in your room. I'll be back to get it whenever you want." He could feel the remorse in the damp skin on her cheek.

"I'll bring it over to your place whenever you ask," he said.

"No you really don't have to –"

He gave her a hug, because heat coming up in his throat from his stomach made it hard to breathe. The warmth of her face in his jacket made his chest burn even more. His shirt was damp.

He didn't know what to else to say.

When he let go, he left the change in her hand and followed the heat of the fire under his feet all the way out the door.

He found a bench on a pathway buried in snow while on his way to class, and decided sitting outside would be a better use of his time. He tried to imagine the heat of the person next to him in class, and all the steam from their tea and coffee on the back of his neck.

The bench was made from plastic little blue rings, packed with snow in the middle of winter. The bench steamed through his jeans and into his thighs like a pot of boiling water. He wondered how red his cheeks and neck were.

When he felt the stitches on his beanie, the right of his face felt the cold embrace of a metal pole on a train ride he'd once taken. He remembered reaching out in the icy air that the girl next to him breathed out and the crystals on his knuckles when he pulled his hand back.

Fresh strawberries flooded his nose, like the inside of her scarf.

The phone inside his pocket vibrated. Opening it up was like sliding open the doors to an icebox full of ice cream outside his favorite café back home, the cold air on his knuckles like the icy breath of the girl next to him on the train against his check, or the soft dampness against the skin of his chin when he pressed the inside of her scarf.

He hadn't opened that icebox in a while. He wondered if it was still there.

**A/N: I wrote this to the song, "Heartache," by One Ok Rock (Yes, I know, the angst). But, they're seriously great, and the song is emotional, given the context of why it was made. Give it a listen.**


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